Three Barrels, One Bride and a Bank Robber

Warning: This post has nothing to do with sports, save the fact that a man who happens to be a sports reporter was suspected as a bank robber during the week of his honeymoon two weekends ago.

And that sports reporter was me.

Please enjoy, everyone.

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By Caleb Breakey

With two pistols and a shotgun aimed at my bride, whose hands were
shaking uncontrollably, I came to the realization that my groomsmen
were right: marriage would be tough. Brittney and I had been married
for less than one week, and we were already targeted as Bonnie and
Clyde.

Welcome to the Friday night of our honeymoon.

Don't worry about covering kids' ears. There's no hanky-panky in this
story, just three barrels, one bride and me — an alleged bank robber.
If you plan on getting hitched, read this.

It all started when I pulled into the Georgia Pacific Credit Union
parking lot at about 5 p.m. I've been a member there ever since I
saved $20 to open an account. I know most of the tellers and my aunt
is the manager. Every visit is cozy.

Except for this one.

After a smiling teller congratulated me for tying the knot, I strolled
out of the bank and plopped into my 2003 yellow Ford Mustang —
currently decorated with white letters on both doors: "Caleb & Britt."

I picked my bride up at Bellis Fair Mall and headed toward northbound
Interstate 5. Brittney, being the sweetheart she is, pecked my right
cheek about 30 yards from the onramp. That's when I saw red and blue
lights flicker in my rearview mirror.

The colors vanished as soon as they appeared. I figured the officer
accidentally bumped the strobe switch, so I kept my foot stationed on
the gas pedal. Another quick flash of the lights perked my curiosity.

Speedometer? Check.

Lights? On.

Windshield? No cracks.

The lights lit up for a third time, but now their rotations were full
and bright. I pulled over and began my mental checklist, as a good
journalist tends to do. I needed my license, registration …

"Put your hands where I can see them," the officer shouted.

My checklist vaporized as the officer barked the following commands:
roll down the window, turn off the car, put the keys on the roof, and
open the door— slowly.

Drop to knees. Hands on head. Crawl backwards.

"Can I ask what this is about?" I said, turning my head towards him.

The officer snapped quickly, telling me to look forward. Whether his
next words were for his excitement or for my relief, the officer said
he would talk with me later. Right now was solely about cooperation, a
spirit-filled time of getting on my four paws and pathetically inching
backward while rush-hour traffic enjoyed a sneak preview of the
seventh season of "24."

Orders riddled my ears again. The officer told me to stand up and put
my hands behind my back. The cuffs clicked into place and he searched
me.

Pens. Recorder. Gum. Wallet. Cell phone.

Oh no, not the inside pocket of my jacket, I thought. Yes, the inside pocket.

The officer pulled out a 2-inch by 2-inch booklet — "Sex for Dummies."

"Bachelor party," I said.

The officer chuckled. I realized this was either serious trouble or a
seriously awesome story to tell the grandkids one day.

My glass-half-full thinking lasted two seconds. That's when I noticed
a second officer to my left and two more to my right.

Cue the most horrific sight I've ever seen: Three weapons pointed at
my 18-year-old bride, who had been homeschooled up until college and
had never lived away from home.

I needed air. Quickly. Just needed to breathe. To yell. To jump high
or grow green skin and break the cuffs.

But instead, I exhaled, and as the air squeezed through my trachea, I
said, "This is our honeymoon."

I would like to say it came out clearly with a little bite. The truth
is, though, I sounded like a grown man whimpering because somebody had
crashed his birthday party.

If the officers indeed heard this tone, then their next move seemed
appropriate. One of them escorted me to the adult version of a timeout
— the hard backseat of a squad car.

There, over the radio, I heard myself referred to as 'suspect' three
times. An officer took my handcuffed Brittney to one of the six or
seven other squad cars, which responded from Bellingham, Ferndale and
the county.

Finally, an officer opened the door. He told me a bank had been robbed
and that the suspect got away in a yellow mustang…one decorated with
white letters on both doors.

I asked him which bank had been robbed. Then I told him I had just
been to GaPac.

The officer reached for his radio and relayed that the 'suspect' had
just confirmed that he had been at the Georgia Pacific Credit Union.

"My aunt is the bank manager there," I said.

The officer didn't pay much attention. He was too busy watching a
handful of officers creep up to my mustang's trunk with their weapons
locked and loaded. They flipped the trunk open and eased back. Just
one duffle bag, two toiletry bags and some clothes I had bought from
the Aeropostale clearance rack.

I asked him if he knew an officer friend of mine, whose daughters
happened to be the flower girls at my wedding last Saturday.

The officer's eyes said he did know him. Then he shut the door,
returned after a few minutes and read me my rights. He suggested that
I shouldn't say anything more.

Minutes passed and the same officer asked me to step out of the car.
He said a witness had come from the bank, so we walked past several
red and blue lights and the officer asked me to look toward a vehicle,
which had tinted windows.

I stood for about two minutes and observed the congested traffic
studying me. Some of the gawks were hilarious. Caleb Breakey was one
bad dude, I thought.

For a brief time, anyway.

The officer conferred with another officer and then unlocked my cuffs.
He reunited me with my bride and jotted down our names and dates of
birth.

Then he asked if we had any questions.

"Can I take some pictures for our honeymoon?"

The officer said to knock myself out, so I grabbed the digital camera
out of my car and had one of the officers snap three quick photos. I
was posing as James Bond…on his honeymoon.

So for all of you folks out there planning an extravagant getaway to
accompany your wedding, think twice. Just go deposit your wedding
checks at your local bank and walk out.

Who knows? Your bank receipt might show — such as mine did with a
transaction time of 16:48:43 — that you were within 30 feet of an
active bank robbery.

What could be more exciting than that?

Former Sports Editor Dies

There must still be some people out there who remember the inimitable Chuck Wilfong.

Chuck was the Sports Editor at The Chronicle when I started in 1978. He was defintely one unique, some may say strange, sonofagun, but he was, deep down, a very good man. I didn’t know anyone when I started here and Chuck was very gracious and friendly, helping make my transition to the Twin Cities a smooth one.

When he wanted to be, Chuck was one of the finest storytellers around. His stories, in particular features and columns, had life, humor, and flair. He cared about his work, especially the athletes and coaches in the area, but he wrestled with inner demons that eventually cost him his job here.

He was sports editor from about 1968 to 1980, and then worked on the news side for a short time before relocating back east. I lost track of Chuck after receiving a Christmas card from him about 10 years ago from Connecticut, until I learned of his recent death. If anyone recalls any fond memories of Chuck, and I’m sure there are plenty, I’d love to hear them.

Below is the text of an obituary that appeared in the Brattleboro Reformer.

published 7-17-07
GALES FERRY, Conn. -- Charles Lewis Wilfong, 68, of Richard Road, died unexpectedly Sunday afternoon, July 15, 2007, at Brattleboro (Vt.) Memorial Hospital.

Mr. Wilfong was born in Philadelphia, on Feb. 9, 1939, the son of Richard and Sonora (Meng) Wilfong.

He was raised and educated in Pennsylvania and had been employed as editor of the Norwich Bulletin from 1985 until his retirement in 2006. Previously he worked as a sports editor in Washington state.

A veteran of the Vietnam War, he proudly served his country in the Marine Corps.

Mr. Wilfong attended college in Scranton, Pa., where he majored in history and communications. Prior to moving to Connecticut, he had resided in Centralia, Wash.

He enjoyed fishing, music, reading and spending time in Vermont.

On Sept. 4, 2004, in Ledyard, he was married to Delicia Altamirano who survives.

Besides his wife, he leaves, two daughters, Audrey and Annette, both of Boston; a brother, Richard Wilfong of Mystic; and a sister, Linda Kays, of Pennsylvania.

What’s Up in Winlock?

I hear rumors from some extremely reliable parents in Winlock that Winlock Superintendent Dick Conley is making life tough for boys basketball coach Gary Viggers Sr. The word is that Conley “is out to get Viggers,” and from what the parents say, they know of no good reason.

Viggers is a good man and I’m sure the average fan in Winlock has no idea how much extra time and (his own) money Viggers invests in that program. You won’t find anyone who cares more for the kids and the program.

Area fans may remember Conley for his part in the Ron Nilson debacle in Morton in the late 1980s. Conley was principal at Morton at the time. He came over from Idaho a year earlier with then-superintendent Dick Morton. The two of them non-renewed Nilson’s coaching contract (fired him) a few weeks after Morton won a state B championship, also for no apparent reason, and it caused the biggest uproar and community split that I’ve witnessed in 30 years — and Morton sports still haven’t recovered from it. Nilson sued for wrongful termination and won, and it cost the taxpayers in Morton a bundle.

Can anyone out there shed any light on what exactly is going on?

Prep Polls — Good or Bad?

On Thursday, Jan. 16, the first Washington State AP Prep Basketball Poll will be published. Some people love the polls, some don’t give a hoot. For me, I think they’re great as long as you keep them in perspective. They’re merely tools to help fans enjoy the season a little more.

To be honest, they’re horribly inaccurate. You know why? Here’s how they’re voted on. All the prep sports writers from around the state are invited to vote (though all rarely do.) There are really only about 12 who vote on a weekly basis. We all have knowledge of teams in our own area, but know little, if anything about other teams statewide.

We’re basically taking educated guesses on teams statewide, and, the longer you’ve been around, the better your guesses are. Year to year, you learn which leagues are generally the strongest. But then again, due to cycles of athletes, you stil never really know. That’s what is great about state tourney time. You finally get a glimpse of the teams you vote on all season to see if they’re legit or not.

For me, I take the poll seriously when I vote. I won’t be a homer, and just put a local team on there because they’re local. You try to make a good estimate if a certain team might fare well with other good teams around the state and vote based on that. The most important thing to me is to make sure a good, deserving local team doesn’t get overlooked.

Over the years, our track record is pretty solid. Rarely have we had a team overlooked.

Off the top of my head, some local teams who should be voted fairly high next week are W.F. West’s boys, maybe Winlock, although they’ve sputtered a bit lately, maybe Tenino, and perhaps Napavine. For the girls, we’ll vote White Pass up there in the 2Bs, and also Napavine, and perhaps Mossyrock. In the 1As, Onalaska and Toledo will get votes, but likely no one in the 2As.

Then, we’ll look at scores and records statewide, and put our best guesses down. Unfortunately, I don’t think every prep writer goes to these lengths, but they should.

The best part of the poll is it gives a team a little extra pride, and, as we know, everyone loves to strive to be No. 1.

Did we miss anyone? Let me know.